


green really never was your color.

by wyrmbloods



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Mind Control, Riding, all brief mentions, i'm putting that second one to be safe bc tempering is a fucky wucky subject
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29171472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyrmbloods/pseuds/wyrmbloods
Summary: zephirin is a noble and powerful knight, but it does not make him immune to a man's base instincts where haurchefant is concerned.least of all, when the warrior of light gets involved.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone & Warrior of Light, Haurchefant Greystone/Zephirin de Valhourdin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	green really never was your color.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MeChewChew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeChewChew/gifts).



> a painful gift for the lovely mechewchew, whose writing fills me with inspiration and violence. 
> 
> also please know this is focused on unhealthy jealously mixed with primal mind magicks, so please me mindful if that makes you uncomfortable!

Zephirin rues the day the Warrior of Light and their Scion ilk ever stepped onto Coerthan soil, for they have brought the knight naught but misery before they ever had the displeasure of meeting in person. 

An exaggeration, perhaps, some would claim. 

He could have forgiven all of the other nonsense they brought along with them into Ishgard proper, but he can never forgive that so called savior.

Not even for ruining all of the Archbishop’s carefully laid plans. 

Nay, for stealing Haurchefant’s heart and attention away from him. 

* * *

It was a slow thing at first, one of their rare chances to see one another outside of duty going from passionate touches to idle conversation as they basked in the afterglow. So rare was it to see Haurchefant so worked up over someone simply passing through Camp Dragonhead, why not allow him to speak of his new ally who helped little Francel avoid being executed as a heretic? 

‘Tis just idle conversation while they enjoy each other’s company, nothing more. 

But then, one day, it’s much more and there’s a terrible creature that begins to gnaw at his insides. 

The monster is fiercer than any Dravanian of the first brood, and its scales emerald green.

He dare not speak its name.

* * *

It’s the end of a rare, unannounced visit from Haurchefant, that matters go from a mild annoyance to genuinely irksome. 

“This...Warrior of Light, is staying with you?” Zephirin does his best to seem uninterested. 

“At Camp Dragonhead, yes. Along with two of his fellow remaining Scions. They use the intercessionary for their work, and have rooms elsewhere within the walls, when they decide that they are allowed to rest.” The silver haired knight chuckles. “Why do you ask?”

“Mere curiosity. Strange you would leave this friend of yours by his lonesome, with how much you like them.” 

“I came to the city to petition my father to take them in to help with the war effort, and decided that I owed _someone_ a visit for once.” Haurchefant smiles at his partner, reaching out to caress the elezen’s face. “I have neglected you for too long, it would seem. A shame we are here, rather than your home. I would have enjoyed hearing you properly.”

“You know my duties keep me busy, but ‘tis nice to see that I occasionally worm my way into your thoughts.” 

“You are...jealous of them?” The silver haired knight sounds dumbfounded. 

“No, not unless you’ve done something to give me reason to.” The actual answer is _yes, because there has not been a time in the past six moons when I have not had to hear about this person and their wonderful deeds. I grow tired of our alone time having hangers-on._ But no, he will not speak such things into reality; let those feelings burn down to ashes and fuel him in the battles to come. Haurchefant sighs, closing the distance between the two of them on the bed with a kiss.

“T’would seem I need to prove to you that there’s no merit to such thoughts, then.” He presses his forehead against Zephirin’s, before speaking once more. “You more than _worm your way into my thoughts_. You are always there in my mind, the way my body takes breath without permission and my heart beats without thought.”

“Ever the poet.” It brings a smile to his face, though. “I think I could use a bit more convincing through action, though.”

“That can be arranged.” Ever a man of his word, Haurchefant goes above and beyond simply _convincing_ his partner with his body.

The pair spend the night in each other’s company, Haurchefant deciding to stay the night and delay his return to Dragonhead by a day or so. Zephirin makes excuses the next morning via linkpearl, complaining of whatever malady that will get him but a few more hours alone with Ser Greystone before his departure. Such a rare occasion, to have the Very Reverent Archimandrite go to such lengths for _cuddles._

The time passes all too fast, before Haurchefant is called back to duty, and Zephirin is left in his quarters by his lonesome. In the moment his lover’s words did much to soothe the flames that burned in him, but now…

...He never _did_ say no explicitly, did he?

* * *

His first meeting with the Warrior of Light is unceremonious, in the wake of false accusations of heresy and a rather impressive trial by combat. He lays eyes upon this...hero, eikon-slayer, what have you and he is unimpressed as they stand in the Archbishop’s audience chamber. 

What folly, to even have considered this person anything close to competition...but perhaps looks alone are not what would draw Haurchefant away. He strides out of the chamber, keeping his eyes on them until the doors are closed behind him upon his superior's request. The rest of the Heavens’ Ward scatter and return to their duties (pleasures, rather, in Charibert’s case) but the Archimandrite lingers, waiting for the meeting to be over so that his curiosity may finally be sated. 

The Warrior of Light’s companions eye him strangely as they depart--back to Fortemps Manor, he assumes, due to their ward status--but they do not bother him, at least.

He mentally rehearses his most formal and respectful greeting, lest he attempt to listen into the ongoing discussion just beyond the doors, before readying himself as the sound of armored boots on tile begins to echo within the Vault. In the deepest reaches of his heart, he swears he can hear something hissing at their approach. 

“Ah, a moment, if you would not mind.” Zephirin gives a courteous smile, and they come closer to greet the knight.

“Ah yes, Ser….erm…” They fumble a bit, only having just learned the man’s name and it’s already left their mind. 

“Ser Zephirin de Valhourdin.” He gives a formal bow, if only to give a quick glance of annoyance at their feet for not even bothering to remember his name. “I must, again, apologize for Ser Grinnaux’s actions against you and yours. I pray that they have not colored your opinion of myself and my fellow members too negatively.” 

“Ah, no. Understandably we have caused some air of suspicion with our arrival. Hopefully this will be the last time we...bump elbows unpleasantly.” They smile innocently enough, and speak clumsily, but honestly. “May next we meet, be it side by side on a battlefield, Ser Zephirin. I pray I don’t mess up or forget your name again.” They feel bad, but Ishgard has such complicated names and they've had a number of them thrown in their mind all once. 

“It surprises me you did not know it before.”

“Oh, did you fight on the Steps of Faith, or in the Stone Vigil? I swore I would have recognized a face like yours after fighting together…”

“ _Ah._ No reason. Do not let me keep you from your affairs.” The two nod at each other, before parting.

Zephirin clutches his fists so tight he can swear he feels the metal gauntlets twist and distort from the force alone, as he finds a quiet place to allow himself to feel, for but a moment as the creature within him begins to writhe and claw at his insides once more. He shall allow its leash a little slack, just this once. 

“Has he…truly...never spoken of me…?” Due to his station, the two kept their relationship quiet within the walls of Ishgard, but certainly Haurchefant would speak of his partner among friends, would he not? How many nights has his lover regaled him of tales of the Warrior of Light, detailing their every action and feature such that he could pick them out of a crowd in any city? 

Were Zephirin's own glorious actions not worthy of bard-esque retellings? 

_As if he was just another member of the knights_. 

He bites his lip until he tastes copper and salt in his mouth, letting the pain clear his mind. _Calm yourself,_ he repeats, until his shoulders relax and he stands up straight. ‘Tis fine, or it will be fine in time. What plans the Archbishop has in store will prove to Haurchefant that this Warrior of Light is not worth the time of day, nor the equipment they wear. 

He will come ‘round in due time.

_Will he?_ The beast whispers, before he tugs it back into its blackened cage.

* * *

Zephirin does not notice until much later, that he and his fellows have been tempered as if they were no better than a beast tribe enthralled by its false god. 

It’s a slow process at first, for the devotion is given, rather than demanded. 

He feels so distracted, in the rare moments he is alone. That even when he is resting, he should be working toward his noble purpose...it becomes difficult to ignore, with whatever other personal feelings that mix and mingle. 

He wishes that when the Heretics make their way within the city walls that Thordan orders the Ward to be dispatched and he can at least fight alongside this Warrior of Light and prove who of them is mightier, more _worthy_ of attention. It takes everything in him to retain his normal composure while they convene and discuss the matter, but plans take such precedence that his focus is wrested from him to the task at hand. 

It’s welcome, not having to think or to have his thoughts creep up on him like a creature in the night. Such a position of leadership has left him wanting, wishing for days that have since passed where he took orders, rather than give them. There’s a degree of that within the Heavens’ Ward, but nothing to the degree of when he was naught but a lowly temple knight. He had much more time to devote to personal matters. Hence his relationship with Haurchefant, albeit he was not the pursuer at the start. 

Yet his mind wanders once more when they are dismissed and he is left to his lonesome in the family estate. He knows better than to consider the family stewards anything akin to pleasant company. 

They know better than to disturb him when he has decided to come home, yet the eldest of them knocks upon the door of his bedroom as he is half out of his armor. 

“Master Zephirin--”

“ **_What._ **” There is a flash of purple energy in his hand that he quickly crushes. 

“Pardon my intrusion, but you have a visitor.” _Who could be bothering me at this hour?_ “A...Ser Greystone?” 

“Oh. Well, see him in then.” Zephirin can’t recall a time where he had invited Haurchefant to his...home. Suddenly he is nervous, and attempts to get the rest of his armor as quickly as possible and change into something vaguely suitable for hosting company. Not that it matters much, for he hears a protest, and then the silver haired knight is standing against the doorframe. Typical for the man, no patience whatsoever. Looking upon him, though, he is worse for wear. Zephirin rushes to close the distance, raising a hand to rub against a bruised cheek and thumb over a split lip. 

“ _Hello._ ” Haurchefant smiles, but it doesn’t reach his tired eyes. “I hope I’m not imposing too much, barging in unannounced.”

“Bleeding on my doorstep, no less.” His tone believes fondness, rather than irritation. He shoos the steward away, that he is not to be disturbed again lest there be issues. 

“Just a few drops, thankfully. Full glad am I that everything ended rather peacefully in the end, so I thought I could perhaps celebrate the end of a long night with you. Cruel have I been, neglecting you so.” 

“Mm, yes. A treat, to play chirurgeon for you.” He’s smiling as he speaks, the unexpected visit doing much to raise his spirits and let his mind rest for a moment. 

“T’was not my intention to come to you injured, but a few kisses to my wounds may suffice in lieu of healing spells…” He pushes into the room, unceremoniously tossing his weapon and shield to the ground, before picking up the other man, and getting on the bed. “That is, of course, if your duties have not worn you out enough already.” The idea struck him rather last minute and he hadn’t even considered how Zephirin might feel about him just showing up at his home, seeing as they did their best to keep things quiet and within Haurchefant’s own chambers back at Dragonhead.

“No, no. I believe I still have enough energy to occupy you.” Zephirin reaches out to cup both sides of the other man’s face, before bringing their foreheads to touch with a sigh. “Your arrival is a welcome surprise, especially after today. I fear I may not get the chance to be alone with you for some time…”

“Ever overworking yourself.” 

“Yes, that, and after today I do not imagine things will calm down any less. The heretics may have left the city, but…” _Well I know exactly what is to come._

“Such pessimism.” Zephirin feels hands wandering beneath his shirt, and shudders from the tinge of cold that comes with Haurchefant’s touch. “The Azure Dragoon is on the hunt for Nidhogg and the conflict will be over with the wyrm’s end, I pray. Ser Estinien certainly has the skill to back his fervor.”

“Mm, that would be nice, wouldn’t it.” _I have a feeling where this conversation is going to go,_ and he has to hold in the groan to come. “I wish him the best of luck on his hunt, then.” 

“Indeed.” 

To his surprise, the conversation ends there and Haurchefant begins to make good on his promise of making up for his undue neglect of his partner. 

"Come, come. Allow me to clear that ever buzzing head of yours, dear." They switch from their usual positions, and Zephirin raises an eyebrow as they had only gotten undressed as Haurchefant straddles his hips. "A treat, compared to our usual. All you need to is sit and watch." He pours a generous amount of oil onto his fingers, before he stars fingering and stretching himself for the other man to watch. He braces his free hand such that he can lift himself higher and finger fuck himself deeper. He can't recall the last time he was on the receiving end, so...Zephirin may have to endure how slow this process is about to be, for a bit. He lets out quiet moans, as not to alert his lover's neighbors of what company he keeps. 

It takes a couple seconds of watching for what's about to happen actually _hits_ , and the older knight can't help but grin like a Fury-forsaken fool about it. Such a rare and lovely treat, to have Haurchefant _offer_ , much less actually _do_ , to ride him until he can’t form coherent words any longer. It's a slow, joyous process as Haurchefant takes him in ilm by ilm until he bottoms out.

Zephirin is seeing stars at that, and once the movement begins he swears he can see the gates to the heavens themselves. In the heat of the moment his mind is purely his own; the only prayer upon his lips, the only hymn he sings and the only gospel he knows is Haurchefant. He doesn't even bother with his usual attempts at subtlety, for it's pointless. 

He should have told the stewards to go home or another wing of the house lest they be treated to a cacophony of his own strangled moans and shouts of his lover’s name. 

_Ah well_. 

The beast in him stirs only briefly, whispering _mine, mine, mine._ He pays it no mind, and instead decides that he needs be more directly involved in his own and Haurchefant's pleasure. Zephirin gets to take in the view of the other man shuddering in pleasure and out of oversensitivity once he is left unsatisfied after a couple of well timed thrusts unmake his partner. 

“If I did not know better, I would believe you were actually cross with me.” Haurchefant’s breaths are a little heavy as he lays beside the other man, too worn to clean off either of them for the moment. “Is aught amiss?” 

“Stressed, merely.” It isn’t a lie, technically. Most of it has left him as they bask in the afterglow, but it is sure to return in due time. "Better now." He reaches to push hair out of his lover's eyes so they can see one another with ease. 

“Well I shall be remaining in the city for a time, should you require another bit of _relief._ ” The knight smiles, and for a moment there is no tightness in Zephirin’s chest and no dutiful buzzing in the back of his mind. “The Warrior of Light is away, assisting Ser Estinien on his mission, so my attention is fully yours when duty does not call.” Ah, of course, it did not last. Of course they had to come up in conversation. He cannot bother to hide his distaste for their being mentioned, his expression growing sour. 

“Then the Azure Dragoon has no need of luck, then, with such a tried and true hero at his side.” Zephirin goes about cleaning up the two of them, ignoring the concern on his partner’s face from his slight outburst.

The beast wins, this time, and he later curses himself for not speaking plainly. 

Everything after unfolds so quickly, and he feels terrible that it would be the last night he spent alone with Haurchefant. 

* * *

It is so _petty_ and unbecoming of one such as himself, but there is a bit of glee that comes in being trusted with taking care of Eorzea’s hero. He knows full well it is due to his ability and station that he is granted such an honor, knowing that the Archbishop is entirely unaware of his own personal stake in the matter. 

_Yes, yes!_ The creature roars, rattling against the bars of its cage. _Destroy it! Destroy the problem at the source!_

“It is my solemn charge, your Eminence.” 

He should have known better, mixing business with pleasure.

* * *

Zephirin waits atop one of the spires of the Vault in his transformed state, ready to strike at his target once they appear; it was all but a given that they would come charging after that fool, Aymeric. The man is practically in love with them, from the grand and practically nauseating tales he wove in defense of them in front of the Archbishop. 

(A shame, really, that he also couldn’t disappear today as well. Two headaches, one plan.)

He sees their figure step out into the open after Aymeric makes half hearted pleas as a bastard son to his father; the robes of a white mage are so unmistakable from the rest, as he raises a hand to form aether into a spear. 

He lines up, and throws, knowing full well that naught will protect them from this save the reflexes of an actual member of the Tweleve. The confidence fades, however, when he hears a second voice cry out.

“Watch out!” 

_No, why is he here?!_

A shield with the House Fortemps crest rises to meet the aetherial weapon, and there’s a moment of hope that it is just another knight of the family come to protect its ward. The hope does not last long, though, as he sees and hears steel buckle and shatter from the strain, and Haurchefant falls to the ground with a scream as blood sprays out beneath him.

The knight wants to scream, to run to the man’s side and use whatever meager healing magicks he knows to undo the damage he has wrought upon the man he has claimed to love. Concern turns to anger as he sees the Warrior of Light cradling Haurchefant so tenderly, attempting and failing miserably to heal the wound left in him. _By him._

May they feel but a fraction of the ache that has sat in his gut for the better part of months.

He makes sure as he jumps on the airship with his fellows, that the Warrior of Light knows exactly who did this as his form fades back to normal. Their eyes meet and even from yalms away he can feel their disgust--he returns it tenfold. 

Zephirin steals once last glance back at Haurchefant, and he swears their eyes meet for just a moment. The realization is like another knife in his chest, burning white hot. Yet he must maintain composure and dignity around his fellows.

There is work to be done, in the Sea of Clouds. 

Naught else can matter, now.

* * *

The knights all split up in search of the key to this Azys Lla, which allows him some measure of time to grieve. He dare not shed a tear or take it out on the local wildlife, lest he attract too much attention from the others. 

Once his area is cleared of anything akin to being useful, he takes a moment to kneel and pray.

Pray that Haurchefant’s soul roams Halone’s blessed halls, for--in spite of whatever feelings Zephirin may harbor--he died fulfilling a knight’s calling, protecting someone dear. 

He also prays for forgiveness, knowing full well he is not worthy of it, for he cannot comprehend why Haurchefant would have so readily put his life at risk for this...this...person. All of the tales he has heard of this person and Zephirin simply cannot comprehend why _his_ lover so quickly laid his life down. What did they have that he lacked? Was he blind, unable to see their romantic connection fraying? Should he have made more of an effort? _Could_ he have done anything? 

Were they more than just the friends they claimed to be? The creature in his heart is calmed down now, but it still lives. _Why should I bother trying to understand? If it was not for them...then..._ no, he can’t even think it, much less say it. 

They have stolen enough from Zephirin as of late, he shall not allow them to spirit away with more of his time and thoughts. He has to return, he has a duty to see its way to completion…it pulls him back in the direction of his master, but something in him resists. 

No, no. He can’t--his heart, it aches unbearably. ‘Tis so simple to tell himself that duty takes precedence, when the reality is far more grim. How hollow this utopia shall feel, without Haurchefant in it. No amount of mental influence is going to overcome this pain, nor does he want it to. A reminder, it is to be. Of his weakness once again, as he is unable to stick to the meager principles he had been handed. 

Zephirin will lie to the others, and spend a few moments longer by his lonesome, saying he was doubling his patrol of the area to be extra cautious. He finds a cluster of trees and rock where he will not be easily spotted, before slowly undoing the buckles of his gauntlets and gingerly placing them on the ground so they aren’t damaged.

Then, the tears come. 

They run down his face, burning like acid and make him choke on his every breath. Such displays of wanton emotion are unbecoming of the Very Reverend Archimandrite of the Heavens’ Ward. 

So is murder, he assumes.

* * *

The Warrior of Light makes quick work of the combined might of the Archbishop and his knights twelve.

Certainly impressive, that one clad in the robes of a healer held such destructive power within. Finally, they live up to the lofty reputation set up for them. 

Zephirin lays face down on the floor of this Allagan research facility, more of his own blood pooling around him than left coursing through his veins. He is fading, slowly, compared to the others. He hears the The Warrior of Light approach, and a gentle hand touches his shoulder where one of his pauldrons used to be attached to his breastplate with a curative spell.

“Ser...Ser Zephirin?” 

“Come to gloat about your victory, then?” He coughs, using what meager strength he has left in life himself to look them right in the eye. “Seems you remembered my name this time, at least.”

“I don’t think I could forget your name or your face, so long as I live.” Their words are sharp, like knives. “After what you did...how…” 

“Is this why you toil away to raise a corpse? _To lecture me_?” A laugh bubbles in the knight’s throat, but all that comes out is a trickle of blood from betwixt his lips. Disgusting. “Save your breath and save your mana.” He feels the very aether that makes up his soul begin to dissipate. 

“No, I...I never wanted things to end like this. Please, let me heal you. There’s no need for everyone to perish here.” Zephirin hears the casting of a strong healing spell, and some of the pain in his body abates such that he can sit up without difficulty. _What is their stake in this? Why would…_ “I _cannot_ forgive what you have done. Had you all not forced my hand I would have never traded blows with you all, for your judgement should have been at the hands of Ishgard and her people.”

“Ah, so you admit to your meddling.” It’s not malicious, he is simply very delirious from his ordeal. “There’s something else, though, is there not?”

“Yes, well, despite the circumstances I sincerely believe that the last thing Haurchefant would have wanted was to see your life ended.” The concern on the Warrior of Light’s face is sincere, obviously speaking from the heart. “I know how much you meant to each other.”

Something within Zephirin seems to snap at those words, however, as he reaches for what is left of his blade, Shattered Heart. _How fitting._

“You...have _some nerve_ ….claiming to know what he wanted, to **_me_**!” He swings the broken blade, only managing to catch and tear a sleeve before the other tumbles away, out of melee range. “You, who stole away his heart and thoughts! Some savior you are, when all naught you bring is death and destruction in your wake!” A resounding roar of anguish erupts from Ser Zephirin and where the remainder of his blade had broken away in battle, shadow coalesces and solidifies. 

He has no need of pretenses any longer; he will take all of the feeling--the envy, he finally acknowledges, most of all--and sharpen it into a blade that will pierce through a shield of light. 

The Warrior of Light _will_ be coming with him. 

“Please, Ser Zephirin, see reason!” They take up a defensive stance, readying to cast a protective spell. “I know not what you speak of, I never had such intentions with Haurchefant!” 

“I don’t want to hear it!” Zephirin focuses a moment, engulfing himself in shadow and closing the distance between them with an overhead strike; he hears wood crack and strain beneath his blade as he sees the focus of the Warrior of Light’s staff fall to the side and the blade of malevolent energy makes content with skin. It only grazes more cloth, and he already feels his remaining strength waning. Perhaps he should have allowed them to heal him fully before going on his rampage. “I want you out of my sight and out of my _life_.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” The Warrior of Light wears a pained expression on their face, looking the knight in the eyes. _It cannot be helped,_ they sigh, _t’would seem I could not keep my promise to you, Haurchefant. Forgive me._ They mend together their staff with a burst of cold energy, and ready themselves for another strike. “Then let us finish this, Ser Zephirin. I shall send you Haurchefant’s side myself; I hope your apologies are at the ready.” 

The pair strike at each other, for what feels like the better part of an hour. 

Zephirin’s slowly fading body is running on darkness, adrenaline and spite; after coming to blows a handful of times, his mind begins to wander. 

_Why am I doing this?_

_Is this really, what I want?_ The beast stirs again, scraping at the corners of his mind.

**They stole him from us!**

_Did they, really?_

**Why else would he have so readily jumped in front of them? We know the answer!**

_No..._ He realizes now, what has gotten the better of him. He’s such a fool. Fray would be mocking him, if a corpse could be watching on. Seeing as he is a walking one himself, he can't discount the possibility. 

What else would manifest itself as his most minor of insecurity that grew into obsession, but his darkside? 

What other being could cause him to doubt Haurchefant, the kindest knight and biggest heart in Ishgard, than that...that _thing._ He has to see this spiteful crusade to the end, though. Even acknowledging the beast that has bloomed within his breast, the sight of the Warrior of Light still fills his stomach with _bile._ But it matters little, he knows how this tale is to end. 

Zephirin wants this to be over. This day alone has made him feel a whole range of emotion he would rather soon forget. His aether is all but spent, so he swings dramatically, to give the Warrior of Light an opening. 

In an unexpected turn of events, they thrust forward with the end of their staff, and he hears the metal of his breastplate strain and shatter from the force. It’s so surprising, in fact, that he barely notices how much his chest aches from the pain. Right in his heart. Both of his have been destroyed by them, this day. 

Zephirin falls to his knees, blade at his side then fizzling out. Hands reach to the enchanted wood in his chest, in disbelief. He was ready to be consumed in holy light, stones to crush him, flames to broil him down to ash. Such violence feels _**unprecedented**_. He was ready to throw himself upon it, to make it quicker if he needed, but this pain threatens to overwhelm him. 

The Warrior of Light pulls their staff out of his chest and what blood left in his body begins to pour out on the floor. With what little strength he has left, Zephirin falls on his back, unfocused eyes looking up at the incredibly high ceilings. Magic washes over him, again, and the pain fades whilst lucidity returns. 

“Still not finished with me, then.” 

“This will not take me long, so pay attention.” They kneel at his side whilst white robes soak up the blood, forever stained in Zephirin's own shade of crimson. “I know not what ideas you’ve in that righteous head of yours, but Haurchefant and I were merely friends.”

“Aye.”

“I asked of you, after we first met, you know. You seemed so...hurt. Distraught. When I did not know you.”

“And?”

“If you thought tales of me were grand and vaguely embellished, they do not compare to how he spoke of you. ‘ _I merely did not want my philandering reputation to reflect poorly upon my dearest Zephirin, you see_.’ he told me.” That gets a chuckle out of the fading knight. “He was so worried about you, seeing some terrible change brewing within that you would not speak of to him.”

“Seems we both were not accomplished in letting each other know what was wrong.”

“An understatement.” Zephirin laughs, coughing up more blood and whatever other fluids have made their way into his throat. "I wish you would have come to an understanding with me, before I had to go and make a mess of what was left of you."

“Perhaps, but...I cannot let go of these feelings for you.”

“That is fine, perhaps you should at least let them be known.” They frown. “You are dying with many regrets as it is, one less would be...nice, would it not?” There’s a moment of silence, as he finds the words. He longs for his usual degree of eloquence, but brevity will serve him well enough. 

“The sight of you fills me with an anger I had long since left buried.” A breath. “I hope you live a nice, long life, Warrior of Light. That you conquer every primal, every Ascian, every Allagan mistake best left buried. That you find love and a family and forget us both. That your face won’t be able to recall my rage, nor the sound of Haurchefant’s laughter.” Zephirin gives a bloody grin up at the other. “Nothing would bring me more peace, than to walk Halone’s halls at his side, knowing that we no longer occupy your thoughts.”

“So sure, you are, that you are going to the same place.” 

_Oh._

_T'was uncalled for, was it not?_

“If the Fury is merciful, she will allow me one last good...g-good….b-bye…” His breath hitches in his throat, unable to finish his sentence. The tears come, and he bites his lip until it bleeds and trickles the taste of fresh copper on his tongue so that he does not sob in front of the person he’s held naught but contempt for the past few moons. “...Did he….did he know…?”

“Aye, he did.” Zephirin lets out a choked sob at that. “His last words to me, were of you.”

“Why…”

“He told me to save you from yourself, somehow. Seems I have done a rather shite job of that in terms of your body. Hopefully your heart is in better shape, now.” The knight smiles at them, ever so slightly through his tears. 

“Yes…metaphysically, at least. I think a couple of splinters in the actual flesh...” Zephirin’s vision begins to go black at the edges. “I...am going to go see him first...if I find you there soon after me...I...will...not...be…” Slowly, his eyes begin to close, and his breath slows to a halt. 

The Warrior of Light gives a small prayer to the Fury they learned in their time in Ishgard, that she be merciful and let them be together. As their eyes reopen, the man’s body is gone, dissipated into aether, like all the primals they have overcome before. 

All that is left of Ser Zephirin, is his broken blade, and a memory.

* * *

Awareness comes back to Zephirin, slowly.

He is enshrouded in darkness of his own making, and it feels like he is going to choke on the fumes. People always spoke of death as peaceful, painless.

_What a lie._

He feels two pairs of eyes upon him as he brings himself to his knees, and his blood runs cold when one of them speaks. 

**“How far you have fallen in such a short time. Disappointing.”**

“Not even going to bother to say hello to me, Fray? Typical.” Zephirin scoffs. “I recall falling after you did, you beat me to the punch.” He feels the shadow around him take form behind him, and the weight of someone’s hands on his shoulders bears down on him. 

_“So quickly you regained the resolve you lost in your fight with the Warrior of Light.”_ He hears his own voice, distorted and wrong. Oh no. _“Were you not sobbing at their side? Hoping for some sort of redemption, like a fool? As if someone who faltered twice is allowed such luxuries.”_ How disgusting it feels to have his own voice jeer and jape at him. Will the disgrace of today ever end? 

“Another lecture. Wonderful…” He sighs, keeping his focus on the ground. “Seems I have been robbed of my eternal peace.”

**“Of your own making.”**

_“Maybe you would be at peace if you had stuck to your own principles, rather than living a half life as a lapdog.”_

He does not bother deigning either of their words with a response; perhaps if he ignores the both of them they will both leave him to his oblivion. Not that they even let him finish that thought, of course, and he feels hands wrench his head to look up at the both of them. 

Fray’s ever ominously glowing eyes beneath his helm.

His own face, looking back at him with an expression of disgust.

He must be in the Seventh Hell, for there is no better explanation for what misery hath befallen him. Fray died in a trial by combat months ago—did he wait for him here, all this time out of spite?! And now…his weakness, what he left behind upon ascending to his station has manifested itself to mock and deride him one last time. What torture do they have in store for him, he wonders. All well deserved, of course, but he’s filled with dread. 

Zephirin closes his eyes when he sees the glint of Fray’s blade manifest, readying himself for what is to come. He hears armor and cloth rustle with the sound of movement, seeing Fray raise his massive blade above their heads to strike in his mind's eye. Until now, he never had the displeasure of being on the receiving end of such a strike. 

But the blow never comes. 

Zephirin waits, assuming the anticipation is part of whatever torture the ghost has planned for him. He hears steel clash with steel before him, and a pained groan from his fellow dark knight. His darker half unhands him and throws him to the ground, before engaging someone. 

_“You will not interfere! Go back from whence you came!”_

“And leave him to this fate? I think not!” The voice doesn’t register in the knight’s mind, and he just lays in a pool of shadow, slowly sinking, awaiting whatever new judgement is to befall him. The struggle lasts but a few heartbeats, as Zephirin feels a pain in his chest as his darkness fades. 

Whomever has decided to intervene is quite adept. 

He prays for someone with a less sadistic streak, as he feels his form sink fully into the pool beneath him. 

Halone forsakes him once more, as he feels a hand grip him by his collar and pull him out after the sound of steel hitting solid ground clangs around him. His breath heaves, and he remains on the ground, curled in the fetal position. Hands find their way on his body, and he expects more pain, more misery. 

A hand touches his face, ever so delicately, and he considers opening eyes for a moment. It lingers, caressing his cheek almost lovingly, _inviting._

“Mm…” Zephirin stirs. “Whatever you are doing, can’t you at least make it quick?” 

“Impatient as ever. I come to your rescue and you refuse to even look at me.” His would-be savior sighs. “Bad enough I had to put that twisted version of you to the blade, dearest. Won’t you grace me with your gaze?”

_No._

Whatever place his soul has found "respite" is certainly being cruel now, playing such malicious games with his heart. He rises to his feet, turns, and bolts away from the phantom. 

_I...I can’t. It’s too much._

“Zephirin, please!” A hand finds purchase on the thin clothing Zephirin is dressed in, and yanks him close until their bodies are flush against each other. “Are you truly so loath to be around me that you won’t look at me?” Their forms fit together like puzzle pieces, a gesture practiced for many a night under better circumstances.

“I’ve had enough of these games, please, you….you can’t be the real…” He struggles against the hold, this phantom being made of much sturdier stuff. 

“I did not cross the afterlife to come get you out of your _self loathing_ to be dubbed a fake!” 

“Then prove yourself the real thing, and I _may_ reconsider my claims!” No, he won’t say the name. He hasn’t the right, nor will he give this thing the ammunition to use against him. 

“Hm…” The other man thinks, before pulling the both of them to sit on the ground. “I can recall the crestfallen look upon your face, when the Lord Commander did not speak your name as his successor. You pretended to be cheerful, making sure to properly congratulate Aymeric and shake his hand so forcefully that they heard his knuckles pop down in the Brume.”

“Hmph.” 

“I also know Zephirin de Valhourdin, a man who refuses to admit how much he would like to abandon duty and responsibility, if it meant he could spend another five minutes curled against my chest in the morning.” That makes Zephirin’s resolve crumble just a little. “Or how you always hook your legs around me when we sleep together--”

“Alright, your--” The other pulls him closer, to speak in his ear. 

“-- _and the way they’d lock around me when you would ride me like an unbroken chocobo--”_

“I see the afterlife has done _little_ to calm that libido of yours. Your point is made, _Haurchefant._ ”

“Ah, finally.” Haurchefant smiles, burying his face in Zephirin’s hair. “I thought I was going to have to get significantly more _descriptive_ before you realized it was me.” 

“Why are you here?”

“To fetch you, of course.”

“And I, again, reiterate: why?” Zephirin sighs, and feels himself deflate in his lover’s embrace. This is worse than whatever torture the earlier pair in store for him; he can’t stay with him, no matter how much he wants it. “So quickly you forget that it t’was I who sent you here.”

“Well, yes, _technically._ ”

“I think you've gone mad. You died, by **_my_ **hand! And yet, you come here and save me from whatever retribution I have so rightfully earned.” He wants to curse, scream until his throat is raw and his breaths ragged. Exhaustion has overtaken him, though. 

“Well we can’t have _both_ gone mad at the same time, so I think you have no place speaking to me about madness. Come, look at me when we speak.” Haurchefant turns the other man around so they are eye to eye, making sure to hold the other man’s chin up such that he can’t so easily look away from him. “Yes. I am upset that you tried to bring an end to my friend.”

“And not about murdering you in cold blood?” He has to laugh, but it’s hollow. “You must really love them, Haurchefant.”

“Zephirin.” Haurchefant’s face grows stern. “Did you strike, that day, with the intention to harm me? Was it a choice you made, or was it one made for you?”

“...No, I could never.”

“One of the last things I saw was your face--so calm, ever dignified--as you made your escape. But never have I seen your eyes so dead, so lifeless.” Zephirin bites the inside of his lip, lest he interrupt. “Such pain I have caused you, being so unaware of your feelings.”

“It is...not your fault.”

“Ah, but it is. I gave you the wrong ideas about the Warrior of Light and I pretended not to see the storm that was brewing in your heart.” He leans in close, and lets their foreheads touch. “At first I thought it fun, playful, to see you so envious. It made me want you more...but I failed to see that green was never your color, dearest. I used my last breaths, begging my friend to do that I could not, to save you from yourself.”

“I-I know. I know, Haurchefant. My anger got the better of me, though.” He feels his lip quivering with each word. “They were only kind, while I was everything but.” A pause. He wants to mention that his eyes are _green,_ but he will not ruin the moment with admonishment. 

“We all have our moments.” The silver haired knight smiles, thinking of one too many fights in his youth. “I will only have to make up for it. I forgive you for the lance in my gut, Zephirin, if you will forgive the blade I thrust into your heart.” Zephirin pulls his head and turns away, before gripping Haurchefant by the biceps and nodding. 

“Aye...I think I can.” His whole form shakes, as he tries to suppress the oncoming wave. “Haurchefant...I am so sorry...I--” His whole chest heaves with a sob. “I have done nothing to be worthy of you.”

“There was never anything you needed to do to prove your worth to me, dear.” Haurchefant pulls the other man close to his chest. “In life or in death, we stand as equals. Especially since you grew to be the same height as me.”

“Still cracking jokes, in this tender moment?”

“I’m afraid I can’t stop until you smile at me again. Let it _out_ , Zephirin. There’s no one but us here, no one will judge...least of all myself.” He rubs soft, soothing circles in Zephirin’s back in an attempt to coax the emotion out of the man. “Take all of the time you need, until you no longer feel your heart threaten to betray your mind.”

It takes time, but eventually Zephirin lets his walls down, and openly sobs into Haurchefant’s chest until his breath is ragged, and his eyes ache so much they threaten to fall out. It feels good, in its own way, to not have to hold it in. 

How long has he forced himself not to feel, like an actual person? 

To make sure to lock every negative emotion within his heart and mind in a cage, never to be experienced again sans his momentary lapses in facade? 

(Multitudes of lapses, he should say, but now is not the time for such things.)

Eventually--the pair have zero sense of time, in this strange purgatory they’ve found themselves in--there is nothing left in him, and he lazily nuzzles Haurchefant’s chest. _This is nice,_ he muses to himself, _eternity would not be unbearable if it was just this._

“Better now?”

“Marginally. One would think that being a spirit would mean none of the side effects…” Zephirin sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “ ‘Tis a shame we will not have more time together, than just this…”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“I obviously cannot go wherever it is that you are meant to be, Haurchefant. You may have saved me from my fate this time, but it is not your eternal duty to protect me.” He cannot look his love in the eyes as he speaks, for he knows he will crumble as soon as their gazes meet. “You deserve rest.”

“That's the thing about duty, isn't it? One chooses it, under the best of circumstances." A smile, but it does not last. "And you don’t? After devoting yourself to god and country? After losing your sense of self? Zephirin--” Haurchefant takes the other man’s hands in his own, before pressing them against his chest, above his heart. “--I am _begging_ you. Please, my dearest, be kind to yourself. You have suffered, labored and earned more than enough to rest. Stay with me.”

“And if Halone herself stops you?”

“Then I shall defend you and your honor to my very last. My shield is as strong as my love for you, which has never faltered. I shall brace myself against all the fury has to offer.” He rises to his feet, extending a hand. “Do you doubt me?” Zephirin looks up, eyes focusing.

“No. Never again.” He takes the other’s hand, a smile finally coming to his face. “I think eternity may be enough time for me to make up for my misdeeds.”

“And ample enough time for me to spend reminding you of exactly how beloved you are by me. My time shall ever be yours, never to be shared by another again.” 

They walk, fingers intertwined out of the darkness that threatened to consume Zephirin’s soul and into white, gilded halls of stone. 

* * *

It is after many more trials that a monument is erected to Haurchefant, outside of Ishgard. Many people tried to make suggestions of statues and fountains within the city to immortalize Ser Greystone in marble or granite, but all who knew him opted for something far more symbolic.

Such that whenever his soul has been laid to rest, he may watch over the city and the lives he protected in the process. 

The Warrior of Light, Alphinaud and Tataru are the first to make the trip after his completion, leaving his broken shield as a marker. 

“You two can go on ahead. I shall follow anon.” The pair do not question, and quickly make their way back across the repaired Steps of Faith, seeing the nearest warm sanctuary within the city walls. 

Off of their back, they pull a large, wrapped object, and begin to pull the cloth off with care. 

“I hope you won’t be too offended that I did not manage to completely repair this for you, I am much better suited to mending flesh than metal…” They sigh, running their fingers along the very obvious places along Shattered Heart’s length where pieces were rejoined. “But I did not want to have questions as to why I needed your blade mended. The thought is what counts, no?”

They don’t get a response, and aren’t sure why they expected one. 

“Well, the two of you can watch the city together now...wherever you are. I pray it is side by side. Fury preserve you both.” The Warrior of Light plunges the oversized blade into the ground, beside Haurchefant’s shield. “I do not think myself capable of your last wish, Ser Zephirin. ‘Tis a crime to forget either of you.”

They walk away, and swear they feel two pairs of eyes on their back. 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @lievetels for some of the most cursed content regarding the high ranking members of ishgard you've ever seen


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